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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209441">Desperation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard'>draculard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Darth Vader Suit Kink, Desperation, Dry Humping (ish), Dubious Consent, Frottage (sort of), M/M, Mechaphilia, Omorashi, Piss kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Logic, Public Sex, Risk of Discovery, Threat of public humiliation, Watersports</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beneath the conference table, unnoticed by anyone else, Thrawn’s foot was tapping out a silent and uneven pattern — a pattern Vader could only see due to his seat at Thrawn’s side. His face was an almost perfect facsimile of attentiveness, his eyes sharp and fixed on Moff Loren as he spoke, but up close, Vader could see the lines of tension wreathing his eyes, the signs of strain visible in his clenched jaw—</p><p>—the slight flush over his cheeks, so inhuman in its color that it was barely noticeable. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Desperation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Come say hi on tumblr, I'm draculard there too</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At this point, Vader wondered how long Thrawn could keep up the pretense that he was paying attention to the meeting. Beneath the conference table, unnoticed by anyone else, Thrawn’s foot was tapping out a silent and uneven pattern — a pattern Vader could only see due to his seat at Thrawn’s side. His face was an almost perfect facsimile of attentiveness, his eyes sharp and fixed on Moff Loren as he spoke, but up close, Vader could see the lines of tension wreathing his eyes, the signs of strain visible in his clenched jaw—</p><p>—the slight flush over his cheeks, so inhuman in its color that it was barely noticeable. </p><p>With his mask disguising what he was doing, Vader glanced down beneath the table just in time to see Thrawn’s leg jerk as if by reflex; his thighs tensed, the fabric of his uniform straining against his skin, and for a moment Thrawn’s focus slipped, his studious expression becoming pinched. </p><p>It wasn’t difficult to figure out what troubled him. There was only one fresher in the meeting house, and it was currently locked, a sign on the front announcing its broken status to all the guests. He studied Thrawn’s face, certain the admiral could sense him staring, though he gave no outward sign of awareness.</p><p>His study was interrupted by the opening of the door. A young aide entered the room, paling as he passed Vader and walking stiffly to Moff Loren’s side. Around the table, members of High Command shifted as one, darkening their datapads and sitting back in their chairs as the aide whispered in Moff Loren’s ear.</p><p>“Gentlemen,” Moff Loren said, a dark expression on his face as he cut the aide off, “a brief recess is in order. Admiral Frieet, if you’ll join me?”</p><p>If anyone was surprised that the frankly-unbelievable data Moff Loren had presented to them was apparently incorrect, it didn’t show. Vader caught more than a few members of High Command discreetly rolling their eyes or giving each other significant looks behind each other’s backs, though none of them dared to so much as look at him, and none of them deigned to share their amusement with Thrawn. </p><p>By the time everyone had filed out, it was only Vader and Thrawn left in the conference room, with silence thickening around them.</p><p>“There is a vase inside Moff Loren’s office,” Vader informed him, dark amusement coloring his voice. “I am certain it is within your talents to find a way inside.”</p><p>Thrawn’s emotions were impossible to read, but the look he shot Vader was distinctly unamused. </p><p>“You prefer the alternative?” Vader asked. His eyes shifted down to Thrawn’s thighs, still tensing spasmodically beneath the table. Briefly, he reached out through the Force, getting a sense of just how close Thrawn was to humiliating himself — but he ran into an iron wall of dignity and determination, as though with no reprieve in sight, Thrawn had simply resigned himself to holding it.</p><p>“You won’t last long,” Vader said, a simple, truthful observation. </p><p>He watched for any telltale signs of aggravation — a flexing of Thrawn’s fingers on his datapad, the tightness in his jaw ratcheting up a notch — but found nothing. Thrawn turned to him with a cool gaze that didn’t match his flushed cheeks and did nothing to disguise the way he shifted in his seat, discomfort radiating off him through the Force.</p><p>“I’m open to any solutions you might have in mind,” he said.</p><p>Vader paused, unaccustomed to the lack of ego in Thrawn’s response but unsurprised by it as well. He probed Thrawn’s mind, making it no gentler and no harsher than it needed to be, and found no signs of the things he’d grown used to in other high-ranking officers: a respectful fear of him, a hidden resentment, a desire to say anything he wanted to hear, to acquiesce and get away from him. Inside the alien network of Thrawn’s mind, Vader could find nothing familiar except an unexpected openness — a genuine, unarrogant willingness to accept help.</p><p>He paused, processing this information, recalibrating. His eyes swept down over Thrawn’s body again, the Force aiding him, whispering data his eyes might have missed — the growing pressure in Thrawn’s bladder, the flush flashing hot and cold over his body, the way his muscles were gradually and inexorably relaxing against his will.</p><p>A quick scan of Thrawn’s body confirmed Vader’s nebulous motivations. Beneath his suit, invisible to Thrawn, he could feel himself filling out a little, spurred on not by sensation but by the anticipation of power, of control. Behind Thrawn’s guarded eyes, there was a hint of desperation, of something close to fear.</p><p>With a quiet hiss, Vader pressed a button on his suit and watched the interlacing panels over his abdomen retract. Thrawn glanced over at the sound, his eyes narrowed; something in his gaze sharpened at the nondescript network of piping that was revealed. </p><p>“A waste removal system?” he murmured, his voice unreadable.</p><p>Deftly, Vader unscrewed the connector, twisting one of the open pipes so that it faced outward. With a twitch of his finger, he called on the Force and watched Thrawn’s chair slide back from the table, angling out a few degrees so they were almost facing each other. Thrawn tensed at the sudden movement, his fingers curling around the bottom of the chair as he quickly crossed his legs. </p><p>“The choice is yours,” Vader said, and for a long moment, there was no sound in the room but the hiss of his ventilator and the mechanical whirring of his suit. He made no move to stand, to offer Thrawn a better position, and Thrawn was observant enough to recognize this as an unspoken order on how to proceed. His eyes shifted toward the door, his thighs squeezing closer as he bit his bottom lip.</p><p>With an air about him like a man jumping off a cliff, Thrawn stood and crossed the space between them. His eyes darted down to the cold durasteel hole waiting for him, and Vader could practically hear him calculating angles and practicality before he shifted his weight and stepped forward. He climbed almost matter-of-factly onto Vader’s lap, straddling him with his thighs on either side of Vader’s hips; he seemed determined not to notice the intimacy of the position, and Vader was equally determined not to let it go. As Thrawn undid the sealing strip on his trousers, Vader caught a brief glimpse of his black shorts, wet and glistening in the front from where he’d gradually lost control — and then Thrawn pushed his underwear down and Vader’s hands crept up, palms resting on the back of Thrawn’s thighs and tugging him closer.</p><p>There was a quiet grunt in response, and one of Thrawn’s hands shot out, clamping down on Vader’s shoulder to support himself even as the other grasped his cock. His forehead creased in displeasure, but he said nothing, and within a second, all expression had been wiped from his face. He didn’t hesitate or check to make sure Vader was sure, or anything else patronizing or weak-willed; instead, without another word, he lined himself up with the removal system, the head of his cock resting on the cold durasteel frame.</p><p>Vader watched him, the fingers of his mechanical hand tightening enough to bruise Thrawn’s thigh. He could feel Thrawn struggling to relax, could see the strained anticipation in his eyes, and interrupted it at once. Thrawn bit off a gasp, his muscles going rigid as Vader tightened his grip on his legs and lifted him slightly, pulling him so close that Thrawn’s cock slotted deep into the hole in Vader’s suit — so close that their stomachs and chests touched, and the metal of his suit dug into Thrawn’s hips.</p><p>A wrinkle of displeasure rippled through Thrawn’s mind, but he made no complaints, too mindful of the uneasily public location they were in to start an argument. He settled against Vader, his hands both resting on Vader’s shoulders now, and then went still, holding his breath.</p><p>A moment later, so quietly it was almost inaudible, Vader heard the hiss of urine and felt Thrawn relax even further, leaning unconsciously against Vader and letting his breath out in a sigh. It was just a thin trickle at first, so light that it didn’t activate the removal system, but then Thrawn tensed again, his abs hardening against Vader’s suit, and the stream grew stronger. He heard the mechanical whir as the system kicked into gear.</p><p>Thrawn scarcely seemed to notice Vader’s hands — the mechanical one holding him in place, the real one inching higher, to the waistband of Thrawn’s trousers. He pressed Thrawn closer to him, palm flat against his ass, and Thrawn, so preoccupied with the sense of relief, did not protest — not even when Vader squeezed hard enough to bruise, to elicit a flinch, to draw a hiss of pain. </p><p>Vader dragged his fingers over bare skin, his touch light and unobtrusive. Slowly, he made his way close to the soft skin between Thrawn’s thighs, his fingers inching up higher and higher until they grazed over Thrawn’s entrance. Against him, Thrawn went still, his breath hitching; he didn’t move, and neither did Vader, letting his fingertip rub against the entrance with enough pressure to make sure Thrawn noticed.</p><p>He felt it the moment Thrawn acquiesced, deciding not to argue or try to stop him. Vader gave him no reprieve; he ran the edge of his finger against Thrawn, letting the harsh edge of his glove catch on Thrawn’s skin. Thrawn’s thighs twitched; he pressed himself closer to Vader’s chest, perhaps trying to escape Vader’s hand, but there was nowhere he could go, and the next time Vader stroked him, teasing him open, Thrawn drove down into the touch.</p><p>And then, with a stab of vicious pleasure, Vader felt Thrawn’s stream dry up and knew his cock had filled; he looked down, catching a quick glimpse at the frozen expression on Thrawn’s face. With his fingers still gradually teasing Thrawn open, Vader pushed him back a little so he could see the point where Thrawn’s cock disappeared into his suit.</p><p>He was fully hard, the piping of the suit tight around his skin and refusing to let him go. Thrawn glanced at the door, a flicker of emotion flaring up inside his mind.</p><p>“I—” Thrawn started.</p><p>Vader drove his fingers deeper into Thrawn, not caring that he wasn’t ready. With a gasp, Thrawn leaned against him, trying to relieve the pressure that suddenly seemed to be coming at him from all sides.</p><p>“You’re stuck,” said Vader, darkly amused. </p><p>Thrawn bit off a groan, the sound muffled against Vader’s shoulder as his fingers drove deeper and curled inside him, stroking his walls. He felt Thrawn’s hips twitch against his own, an involuntary reaction that betrayed him. Heat radiated from Thrawn’s cheeks and he turned his face away, eyeing the door to the conference room almost compulsively, and Vader had no doubt he was thinking of the Moffs and admirals who had left minutes before. </p><p>“Vader…” Thrawn started, his voice dark, any threat he might make useless and empty. Vader curled the fingers of his mechanical hand in the back of Thrawn’s tunic, twisting the fingers of his real hand inside Thrawn at the same time that he lifted him slightly — just an inch or two — and drove his cock deeper inside Vader’s suit. A throaty sound, stifled and not entirely displeased, escaped Thrawn; his hips shifted, unable to pull out of the suit that had closed around him, and then he pushed forward again, this time with a fully vocal groan and a high note of frustration and need.</p><p>Thrusting himself into Vader’s suit. Fucking himself on Vader’s hand — anything to increase the friction, to bring himself off and finish up before the others came back and saw him like this, half-naked on Darth Vader’s lap and rutting desperately against him. Vader heard a cut-off curse, not in Basic, not in any language he’d ever known, and curled his fingers inside Thrawn again, stroking him even as he pulled out and thrust back in again with a third finger added to the mix. </p><p>Thrawn was tight around his hand; his body was warm and lithe and intoxicatingly alive against Vader’s, the fit, whole body of a healthy man in his prime. Inside his suit, Vader’s cock lay thick against his thigh, the cold metal of his prosthetics edging in on all sides — but he didn’t rock his hips against Thrawn’s, didn’t deign to meet his efforts with equal effort of his own. He stayed still, unbothered and calm, and let Thrawn humiliate himself alone.</p><p>The friction increased, his fingers sliding in and out of Thrawn with no regard for pain or sensitivity; he felt the heat of arousal coming off Thrawn in waves, heard tiny gasps and breathless, almost irritated moans as Thrawn’s hips twitched and bucked, barely moving as he thrust as much as he could. Thrawn’s thighs trembled; his chest heaved against Vader’s; his breath came fast.</p><p>But it was only when he twisted his mechanical hand in Thrawn’s hair and pulled that Thrawn came.</p><p>He went still, walls clenching around Vader’s fingers — not breathing, not making a sound. His face was pressed against Vader’s neck, his lips parted; when he started to shudder, not from fear or tension but from release, he raised his head a little and Vader saw a wet smear of saliva on his suit where Thrawn’s mouth had been.</p><p>Dazed eyes flicked up to meet his through his helmet, then shifted down again, heavily hooded and expressionless. Vader waited, expecting Thrawn to climb off him and rearrange his uniform, to re-take his seat.</p><p>But instead, Thrawn relaxed against him, their hips slotting close together once more — and when he heard the faint trickle of urine draining into his suit and felt Thrawn sigh against him, Vader understood why.</p>
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